Now with less content than ever
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Eugene’s comedy newspaper
Thewww.thecomicpress.com Comic Press
Eugene, Oregon
In This Issue:
Excuses for Any Situation! Too Much Twitter!
Thursday, January 15, 2008
Volume 2, Issue 6
SAM
ASUO THUNDER GOD
Dropifting Demystified! Massive Bonus Points! Learn the Ways of the White Man! Lose Those Holiday Pounds in 30 Seconds! The Universe: Explained! More Chronicles from the Corner Store! Dracula: Hero? The Manliest of Men! Fear Your Bathroom! Regift Your Way to Fun and Profit! More Music that Might Not Suck! A Steaming Pile of Science! S.A.D. is Some Grade-A Bullshit! And much, much more!
Jihad’s This Week Projectile vomiting The Nile Realizing you went to middle school with that one stripper Economic Trauma Erectile Trauma Sam and Johnny adult fan fiction
Edugraphic: How Will We Excuse Our Burgeoning Alcoholism? November-January: Come on guys, it’s the Holidays! February:Valentine’s depression March: March Madness April: Showers May: Flowers June-September: Come on guys, it’s summer! October: Would you believe Seasonal Affected Disorder? OK then, we have that.
Sam Dotters-Katz: ASUO Thunder God. Forged in the fiery crucible of student government, this transplant to Oregon fights the good fight eight days a week so you can safely take the late bus to Funky Town. Is Sam bigger than Thor? No, but he just might have a bigger heart. No serious article about Sam can go without mention of his hetero life-mate, partner in crime, vice-President, and superhero equal Johnny Bill ‘Zeus-The-RockIron-Maiden’ Delashaw III. If Sam is a tornado dressed in slacks and a fleece jacket, Johnny is one stiff drink away from tearing campus down and rebuilding it. By himself. Ladies, your constitutionally appointed student body President is such a suave and arable1 gentleman of fine virtue that when we asked him “What porn star would [he] pick to be trapped on a desert island with,” he didn’t even know the name of any porn stars! Bonus points: He finally settled on Jennifer Aniston2 as most attractive actress. Rock on, Sam. It isn’t enough to know your student body president, to understand his mind I had to become Sam Dotters-Katz. Unfortunately, our pioneering face transplanting technique was vetoed after watching Face/ Off, the blockbuster staring Nicolas Cage and That Other Guy. Nonetheless, Sam agreed to a groundbreaking, far-reaching, heartfelt interview. None of which is republished here. When I sat down with Sam, I knew that while his words were all business, his eyes told a different story. Sitting down with Sam was like something in between an awkward first date and an interview. I had many opportunities to deeply probe his mind with the metaphorical knobbed scepter of journalism, repeatedly thrusting questions at him, probing and pushing and fisting for a nugget of the story that would come to define his time in office. Running on a platform centered around the ‘average student’, this reporter wondered how far Sam was willing to go to prove his commitment to his campaign promises. “Sam,” I asked, “your campaign was
centered around giving back to the ‘average student.’ As a student, what will you give me right now?” “I’ve got a huge...” Sam began to say before this reporter blacked out. Upon revival, it was made clear that the final part of Sam’s sentence was “... box of pencils you can have.” Sam places himself squarely between Obama and Che on the revolutionary scale, since he is slightly better at sports than Obama and much less dead than Che. We even had opportunity to delve into Sam’s musical preference. When we asked Sam if he preferred “smooth contemporary Jazz Fusion or classic Latin jazz fusion or is any music style with ‘fusion’ in it bullshit?” Sam was quick to return fire with clinical assessment that “any style with ‘fusion’ is bullshit.” Well said, Sam. After the interview was over, Sam shook my hand with the tenderness of a saint and the strength of at least two ninja turtles. “Take care,” he said. “I love you,” I whispered. Fertile. Being fit to ‘plow.’ Oh yeah. While The Comic Press salutes the attractiveness of older women belonging to the genus ending in –ILF, this reporter experienced sudden shrinking of the balls at the mention of 40-year-old Jennifer Aniston in this context.
1 2
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New Year’s Resolutions Since You’ve No Doubt Already Broken Yours, Why Not Take Our Advice? By Alayna Shulman Well, it’s that time again: approximately one week into the new year, when the resolutions we vowed to adhere to on December 31st have already gone kaput faster than it takes Dick Clark’s Botox injections to wear off. The modern American is left with a sense of inefficacy: I can play “Ziggy Stardust” on a plastic guitar hooked up to a television monitor, but I can’t even manage to stay off of caffeine for a week? I can look at my home from the sky via Google Earth, but I can’t even make it to the gym every other day? Yes, our technology-obsessed, Sci-Fi novel-reminiscent society may be great for acquiring completely useless skills such as these, but it’s bred more attention deficiencies, diminished willpowers, and intolerance for delayed gratification than the world has ever seen, making New Year’s resolutions all but impossible to maintain. Perhaps, however, the problem isn’t only the zeitgeist, but also the kinds of resolutions we make. So, what to do to make sure your New Year’s resolutions don’t fizzle out by February (or earlier)? Here’s a complete and concise guide to the New Year’s resolutions we should stop making, and those we should start making:
PLEASE STOP: 1: Giving up any kind of addictive substance. I’m not advocating that you stay a junkie the rest of your days, be your drug of choice caffeine, alcohol, tobacco, or something harder. But making a snap decision to give it up cold turkey is like trying to watch the entire series of The Young and the Restless in one sitting – it ain’t gonna happen overnight. 2: The whole exercising-more thing. Once again, that’s a great idea in theory, but declaring on one lone (and possibly alcoholfueled) night that you’re going to change your lifestyle completely and permanently is a little naïve. You’ll just end up dreading the gym more if you tell yourself you have to go, or else you’re some pathetic fatass who can’t even stick to one meager resolution that’s way smaller than your current waistline. 3: Vowing to be a better person. First of all, this is way too vague and generalized to ever really work. And second, it’s especially doomed to ineffectiveness if you actually believe that your personality is just going to suddenly change by the power of suggestion. If you’re really that big of a jerk, go to therapy, don’t make a lazy attempt to look like you’re trying by just saying it will happen of its own accord.
MORE, PLEASE:
Sam during an ASUO budget meeting.
1. Giving up pathetic aspirations that you obviously have no aptitude for. What is it about technology that makes us think we can do and be whatever we want?
See RESOLUTIONS pg. 3
Our Mission The Comic Press is published by a couple guys and their friends. We don’t get any money, respect or furtive sexual encounters in the supply closet for doing this, so we are understandably bitter. The Comic Press contains only satire and parody, so if you even think about exhibiting moral outrage or taking legal action, then your parents probably didn’t love you enough. Just to be totally clear, we do not assert that anything in this rag comes anywhere close to the truth, facts, medical advice or even good writing. Before you hate, just remember that a whole mess of white dudes died and/or wrote boring documents so we could have the right to make cruel fun of you and your stupid face.
Staff Editor-in-Chief Jackson Hager Publisher Kai Davis Design Jackson Hager Web Master Kai Davis Contributors Emily Balloun Hannah Belair Josh Clark Jordan Eddy Collin Gerber Daniel Hithers Bruce Jeffryes Abbie Kuhn Thomas Kramer Jake Sauvageau Alayna Shulman Chris Shumacher Margie McArdle Aryn Zsarpa Syndicated Writers Dave’s Secretary at Work Merlin Mann Christian Lander Nick Douglas
Senior Twitter Correspondent
Merlin Mann
twitter.com/hotdogsladies Lot of people say “Not a problem” when they mean “You’re welcome.” Which is why I switched from “Thank you” to “Is this a fucking problem? Y’know what, America? If you don’t find the word “handjob” hilarious, maybe you need a new monocle. Or a handjob. “Next, on All Things Considered: a technology report on ‘gravity,’ an invisible air thingee that keeps your Prius from flying into the sky. Pretty sure the only way I could ever generate sexual tension would involve dim lights, bungee cords, and the element of surprise.
Junior Twitter Correspondent
Nick Douglas
Looking to earn extra points for
twitter.com/nick
that fighter jet the comic press is giving away?
This Starbucks line is too long. They should serve us coffee while we wait. Things my dad has said part 4: “I know karate, jujitsu, and five other Japanese words.” Aw, that’s a neat opinion. I liked it more when I read it where you did. I have a teapot that doesn’t whistle, now all I need is a nemesis who’s getting married.
101
Life Skills
BONUS POINTS!
by Daniel Hithers
go into any business advertising with the comic press, tell them you saw their advertisement, and send us a photo of you team in the store or a copy of your receipt!
Send all pictures to firesquid@ thecomicpress.com all teams will earn double points towards their team score this month!
Need to register your team? Send a team photo and your awesome team name to us at firesquid@ thecomicpress.com!
Lesson 7: The fine art of ‘Droplifting’ Droplifting is the practice of depositing a disc of your music in the racks of a record store without knowledge of the store’s owner or staff. Its a tactic that has been used by many independent musicians to get their music into stores that might not accept it.
5. Call the library and ask them to do a search for the book. If they ask why, say you’re ‘pretty sure you returned it awhile ago.’ 6. In a few days they’ll give you a call, say they found the book, and remove the fine.
The great thing is you can adapt droplifting to never pay a library fine again! 1. Keep a book out past its due date. 2. Stick that book into your bookpack and head into the library. Don’t bother sneaking. It isn’t illegal to take books into a library. 3. Figure out where your book should be on the shelves and go stick it in that general area. 4. Relax. Go home. Wait a week. Image via Weburbanist.com. You should check them out. They’re cool.
Comic Artists Ryan North Randall Munroe Jesse Reklaw Justin & Drew Kate Beaton David Malki ! Wes & Troy Andy Rememter
NO.
Page 2, Bitches
The Comic Press
Dave’s Secretary at Work So when I was like four I went with my mom to DC to visit my grandmother and one day we all went out to the park and I lost my fucking teddy bear. I’m pretty sure his name was ‘Beary’ but anyway I left him on one of those horses mounted on that giant industrial spring that little kids ride on. You know what I’m talking about. So I didn’t realize my bear was lost until later that night and when I found out I was so sad, and like I never really cried that much as a child but I remember I was pretty tearful all night and the next day. So anyway my mom drafts up this god damned ‘missing teddy bear’ poster and goes out early the next morning and fliers like half of DC. Seriously the sweetest/most awesome thing ever. We never found the bear, though. And then when I got home my dad was waiting for me - he had bought maybe 40 different stuffed animals and had them all lined up and told me my mom had called and told
him all about the disaster and he knew I couldn’t replace ‘Beary’ but he hoped maybe I could choose an animal to help me through the tough times!! So I ended up choosing this lamb because I thought it was a dog and I named it ‘Doggy’ (clearly the event hadn’t sapped my creativity) and that lamb went everywhere with me for the next year or two.
Stuff White People Like
Christian Lander - stuffwhitepeoplelike.com
Political Prisoners For the most part, this list has offered ways to befriend white people one at a time. However, if you want to befriend a large number of white people at the same time, the easiest way to do it is to go to jail for political reasons. White people love political prisoners because they are individuals who have been
locked up because their beliefs or their presence stands in defiance of an unjust system. In fact, most white people would love to be locked up for their beliefs provided that they could go to a jail with private toilets, plenty of books and no rape. Instead, white people are forced to turn those dreams of oppression into something more productive. Specifically the belief that one day their law degree, graphic design skill, or ability to attend a concert can be used to free a political prisoner. If you happen to be this individual, then you have no further work to do. White people already like you and will provide for you financially in the form of book deals, commencement addresses, and documentaries. But do not
DINO COMICS by Ryan North <qwantz.com>
Resolutions, from Page 1 assume that these are the only people who can benefit from their time in jail. Political prisoners make excellent choices whenever a white person asks you to name a personal hero. If they drop an answer like “Kurt Cobain” or “Toni Morrison” you can easily trump them by offering up a name like Mumia Abu Jamal or Nelson Mandela which will show white people that you are smart, well informed, and political. Or that you own at least one Rage Against the Machine CD. But what if you pick the wrong political prisoner? Impossible. This is because political prisoners do not exist until a famous white person has drawn attention to them. Until that point, any person who has been locked up for their beliefs is just a regular prisoner and subsequently not worthy of graffiti stencils. Conversely, if you ever find yourself needing to end a friendship with a white person you can simply say something like “Well, he’s a criminal and he belongs in jail. I don’t care what the Beastie Boys have to say about it.” End of friendship.
Just because a computer shows you what buttons to press to make it sound like you’re a good guitar player, it doesn’t mean that you actually are or ever will be. There’s a reason I don’t try to cook – I know I suck at it. And I’m okay with that. And if they ever come out with a Wii – Emeril Lagasse, I won’t touch the thing. It’s time we stop entertaining fantasies that we can do anything thanks to technology. Vows to spend less time on Facebook and/or MySpace. If I could count how many times someone I know has had a minor nervous breakdown thanks to something they saw on either of these sites (especially since the inception of the much-loathed “newsfeed”)…well, I probably could if they hadn’t destroyed my attention span and memory capacity. And what’s more is that these websites are completely annihilating our social skills - a sad irony, as the point of them in the first place seemed to be to make socializing easier. So, there they are: just a few ideas out of many that could make life more enjoyable for anyone in search of an effective and long-lasting resolution. Now that’s change we can believe in.
30 Second Weight Loss Tips! By Thomas Kramer 1. Donate blood several times daily. 2. If it doesn’t have a presidential vote for Ralph Nader in it, don’t eat it. 3. Nair your entire body (bonus lbs if you rub it off with sandpaper!). 4. Grab some pipe cleaner and a friend who can keep a secret. We’re going in. 5. Take advantage of 2-for-1 Tuesdays at Dough Co. It may seem counter-intuitive, but think about it for a second. 6. Anal douche with syrup of ipecac. 7. Marijuana may be your worst enemy... 8. ..but crystal meth is your new best friend! (and your house will be spotless!) 9. Go pearl diving. 10. Stick your arm in a wheat thresher.
TheComicPress.com
Page 3: Menswear
Heavenly Horoscopes with Sunflower Goldschmidt Leo Morality is overrated, try stealing something today. If you get arrested, call collect. Embrace your inner douchiness, it will pay dividends.
Aries The outgoing extrovert. Try shutting the fuck up today. You have good ideas every once and while, but today just save yourself the trouble of being perceived as failure pile.
Virgo Challenge yourself. While masturbating to Internet pornography, try grabbing some tissues instead of just blowing your wad on your t-shirt.
Taurus Don't put your penis and/or giant labia in the toaster. I'm fucking serious this time. Gemini Try incorporating more foods into your sex life, but be smart about it. Whipped cream, yes. Sunflower seed shells, no.
Libra Sell your eggs. Don't spurn your future child by making the bouncer at Taylor's their father. Your zygote deserves better.
Cancer Don't get cancer. I hear it like, totally sucks.
Scorpio I know you think Hannah Montana is a respectable happy medium, but if you really want to nail Billy-Ray Cyrus, go for the gold! The stars are in your favor!
Sagittarius I don't care how long you can hold your breath for, pearl diving will end in tears sooner or later. Capricorn You're pretty much good as you are, but if you really want to be kick-ass buy some replica batterangs and a cape and beat up rapists in Pioneer cemetery. Aquarius Don't re-gift that book you got for Christmas. Your read the entire thing on the can for chrissakes, and you didn't even wash your hands. Pisces Good luck, you're gonna need it. Ain't life a sonofabitch?
Virus Comix by Winston Rowntree <www.viruscomix.com>
The Corner Store Chronicles An insider’s view into the front lines of capitalism By Emily Balloun In the spirit of the New Year, and in following with our publication’s journalistic cutting-edginess, please enjoy a pleasant anecdote from the frontlines: There are a lot of times that work can really get you down, but there are those tender moments in customer service that give you hope for a world not populated by douche rockets and yuppies. I was cashiering at Trader Joe’s over the summer, and we were getting to the end of the night one shift when a man and his daughter came through my line with a heaping cart. The man had a cane, and gasped that he needed a chair if we had one. Like the totally amazing customer service person I am, I trotted down to the break room and grabbed a folding chair. The man sat and I started to scan groceries. He began to make little moans of relief, and started to tell me his entire
life story, up to and including his big accident and how he ended up with a cane limping through my hallowed hall of employment. Apparently, this man is the luckiest motherfucker on Earth. He told me about his previous career as a construction worker in California and how he fell thirteen stories from a platform and landed flat on his back, shattering his everything. Dear sweet god! Most people die after four or five story-falls, but not this dude. Totally rock solid. The man, whose name I forget, and his daughter with a weird state name like Colorado moved up to Oregon with his wife and are not able to find vegetarian food in Sweethome, not even vegetarian Top Ramen. Furthermore, he explained to me that sometimes the pain was so much he wished he were dead, but that he was super-thankful to
be around for his daughter. It was a little intense for me, and I may or may not have thrown a couple free things into his bag while he was talking. No matter how bad life gets, at the end of the day you still didn’t fall thirteen stories onto your back, and you aren’t in constant agonizing pain. For someone who had so much to deal with, this guy was one of my least whiny and most helpful customers ever at Trader Joe’s. He didn’t make totally unreasonable demands OR vomit everywhere OR treat me like shit because I was a cashier. I was not only gratefully thanked for the chair, but he remarked upon my kindness and grocery-bagging prowess as well. In short, the kind of customer that makes your workday worth dealing with. Thanks miracle-recovery shattered spine dude.
A Very Special Comic Press Genesis Story By Jordan Eddy “In the beginning, God created the Heavens and the Earth” (Genesis 1:1). There are about 36 words after that before God reaches the whole part about night and day. That little gap is where we dispatched the most competent society writer on our staff. It’s time to look behind the scenes of the most rockin’ New Year’s Eve party ever. Can Dick Clark’s fireworks display compete with The Big Bang? I don’t think so! The guests were arriving, emerging from the ceaseless envelope of dark nothingness and onto the red carpet. “Who existed before existence?” you may ask. American celebrities and cultural symbols, of course! When that infomercial described the George Foreman grill as “timeless,” it wasn’t lying. Anything immortalized by the United States has been around basically forever. Still confused? Just think “God Bless America” and you’ll figure it out. The George Foreman Grill arrived in a chic sequined tux with Ronald Reagan on one arm and a slightly anglicized Buddha on the other. A very Morgan Freemanesque God came to meet them, sporting a svelte white tuxedo that contrasted nicely with the theme of the décor: “Vacuum of Black Blackness with Black Trim.” The Virgin Mary soon made her entrance, dressed in a modest purple gown. A team of nurses and an incubator holding Jesus’ yet-tobe-implanted fetus trailed along behind her. The Complete Works of Shakespeare was next to show up, followed by Van Gogh’s disembodied ear (complete with a fashionable hoop earring) and Bill O’Reilly. The cast of High School Musical arrived (minus those pesky new sophomores), only to receive glares from the other guests. Barack Obama got a much warmer welcome, but quickly hid under the catering table when Stalin, Hitler and Mau showed up. Luckily, Oprah soon arrived and crumbled them into sand by the sheer willpower of The Secret. Meanwhile, Hannah Montana, Sarah Palin, and Snakes on a Plane were denied entry by Darth Vader, who couldn’t find them on the guest list. Rumors swirled that Charles Darwin and the Theory of Panspermia also didn’t receive invitations. As The Beginning of Time approached, some of the guests were getting a little tipsy. Albert Einstein, Freud and Bob Barker danced promiscuously to the tunes of The Beatles, while Obama and Oprah spooned in the corner. The George Foreman Grill drunkenly seduced all three of Helen Keller’s senses— smell, taste and touch. In perhaps the most scandalous moment of the night, Bill O’Reilly and Allah were bounced by Tinky Winky for getting into a fistfight. Finally, everyone gathered around to count down the beginning of Creation—the very first New Year. The only problem? The Trimspa Diet had brought all of the booze. “5…4…3…2…1!” everyone called out. In a thunderous voice, God shouted, “Let there be Lite Champagne!”
Oh Shit, it’s Page 4!
The Comic Press
UNSUNG, UNAMERICAN HEROES Dracula
by Aryn Zsarpa
Holy Friggin’ crap! If that stare was a cereal, I’d buy it. But you bet your ass Dracula wouldn’t, even if it was part of a complete breakfast. Plus, he doesn’t like holy things; they remind him of his past as an underprivileged choir boy. It’s really a melancholy story, but for the sake of being concise I shall summarize: once upon a time there was a Tranny (that’s shorthand for Transylvanian for those that are uninformed) choir boy named Dracula that was good friends with a Priest at the nearby Cathedral. They were REALLY good friends. They would play Risk at each other’s houses all the time, ritually followed by a quick round of Excitebike on the NES. Each time Dracula, or Tight Britches McGee as they called him in the religious
community, would win and his Priest friend would get super pissed at Dracula and... must I elaborate? Yes? Ok I will! Yea, basically Dracula would keep dominating Excitebike until his friend the Priest would get uber angry and then punch a hole in his wall, in turn storming out of Drac’s Castle disparaged more so at his own ineptitude than the humble soon-to-be Prince of Darkness. No one was raped in the making of this nostalgic reminiscence. There is one piece of advice I’d advice my reader’s to take, don’t be misled by the spin the media puts on vampires! They don’t have bouts of anger, nor does their blood arbitrarily seep from their listless bodies, nor do they perform constant drunken fellatio with each other all the time, those are things that women do...not cold-hearted men like Dracula (please, no angry feminist emails). Dracula and his bloodlings are nothing like what you’d see on television shows such as Buffy the Vampire Slayer (which, to my chagrin, has NOTHING to do with undead metal bands) and contrary to public broadcasting propaganda, The Count does not sit around like a flaccid wiener counting pennies and sand dollars. No, no, no, Dracula is not like that at all. First off, although it may seem that Dracula has a lot of time on his hands, him being immortal and all, he actually has a very hectic daily schedule filled to the brim with events ranging from opulent wine sampling to putt-putt golf to biomedical research to his mandatory daily orgy. Oh you didn’t know about the orgies? Hell yes, you heard right. True badassery. Oh, I may have already mentioned this, but just for the record, Dracula is immortal. You don’t see any games called Immortal Combat do you? He cannot be harmed, aside from a few hard to come by items like holy water, crosses, fine silverware, garlic, onions, mirrors, bibles, the sun, light in general, churches, and Jesus Figurines. Ok, so maybe that is kinda a long list, but think about the orgies, man! It’s all worth it! Damn, I really wish I was a vampire right now.
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Great Moments in Manliness By Josh Clark Since the dawn of mankind, humans have relied on the males in society to risk their lives for oftentimes futile purposes. Although this has helped our species progress from neanderthalic cave dwellers to slightly less neanderthalic couch dwellers, the modern world offers fewer reasons for logical men to endanger themselves. Fortunately, logical reasoning is something that men typically disregard, and a myriad of pointless stunts and feats of strength are accomplished by us everyday: From drunken frat boys playing hit for hit to men of steel lifting hundreds of pounds with their scrotums, ridiculous and painful achievements accomplish nothing and risk the well-being of their participants, yet it is hard to argue that they aren’t fucking hilarious to watch. Niagara Falls is a Mecca for thrill seekers such as these with questionable mental facilities, who plummet 180 feet into raging white water in homemade devices that can only be described as… jinky. From the classic wooden barrel, to the giant rubber ball, to 13 inner tubes attached to an air mattress (not successful), these devices may be unsafe in any current, yet they do generally fare better than their human counterparts. Amazingly, the first man idiotic enough to attempt this stunt was not a man at all. Annie Taylor, a schoolteacher from Michigan, made the trip over the falls in 1901. It would be ten years before someone with a dick finally matched her- an embarrassment to careless thrill-seeking men with too much time on their hands everywhere. As if that’s not bad enough, shortly after Bobby Leach, the first man to go over, exited his little pod, he slipped on an orange peel, had his leg amputated, got gangrene, and died. What a pussy. As time went on, mankind probed fur-
Amazing Superpowers by Wes & Troy <amazingsuperpowers.com>
ther into the depths of insanity. No longer content to hide in some barrel, a new generation of thrill seekers were born. Jessie Sharp, who decided to take a kayak over the falls, had made dinner reservations downstream to celebrate his wondrous achievement, His body was never recovered.
Everything In Your Bathroom Will Kill You By Kai Davis Are you in your bathroom right now, enjoying a soak in the tub or a sit on the throne, reading the latest issue of The Comic Press? If so, I have horrible news for you. Everything in your bathroom will fucking kill you. I’m not talking about that unlikely situation that always lurks in the back of your mind when you stumble home from the bars at 3am. No, I don’t think you’ll slip
Bobby Leach, Man The king of all that is bad ass and dangerous, Robert Overacker, decided he could do a little better than that. He rode a jet ski of the falls with a rocket-propelled parachute on his back. Unfortunately and yet not surprisingly, his equipment malfunctioned and the park staff had to fish out the 39 year old bachelor’s body. I bet he left a beautiful corpse.
on the used hand-towel you left sitting on the floor, falling perfectly forward into the corner of your sink, smashing your jaw to pieces and shoving you into the toilet where you break your neck. Like the guy who you went on a curtsey date with who ended up standing outside your apartment at 3am holding a boom box playing Top 40 Love Songs from the 90s, your specially crafted fear is a little outlandish. No, I’m talking about more mundane causes of death. Take your anti-bacterial soap. Think you’re saving the environment by killing those germs? Think again. You’re participating in a gladiatorial style death match organized by soap companies to breed the Dexter of bacteria. This bad-ass multi-cell killing machine will stop at nothing to slit your throat while you sleep. Even worse is the fact
See Kill, pg. 8
Robert Overacker, all that is man.
How-To: Re-gift By Jake Sauvageau Ah, Christmas! Or Hanukkah. Or Kwanza. Or Winter Solstice. Or Festivus. Look, no matter what your belief, your religion, or your background, there is something about the holidays that makes all of us dig a little deeper into our wallets and pocketbooks to give to others that we love a little something special. Of course, some of us love more than others, as evidenced by my grandfather’s lame attempt at love veiled in a cheap Cosby sweater. God bless the old coot, but I had moved beyond 1988. Yet, despite my dislike to be in an acrylic-knit hell, I can’t bear to throw the thing away, and I know that sending the sweater to the Goodwill will only leave the offending jersey on a clearance rack until a blind man wanders in looking for something itchy and uncomfortable. Unfortunately, years of parental guilt have left me with the need to make my family members happy, even if on a karmic level. Therefore, I have only one
choice: To re-gift. See, as long as someone I know receives my gift, they also take with it my karma and guilt. Over the years, I received my fair share of sweaters, socks, fruitcakes, and cheap cologne. And in turn, I have unloaded these shitty tokens of affection to my not-so immediate friends and family. So now I will share these tactics with you. Scan the gift for a receipt. Does it have one? Then your re-gifting has ended before it began! Simply return the gift, and buy something else. You are not allowed to get cash back, however. Cash has nothing to do with gifting or re-gifting, and is not in the spirit of the holidays. Tell Aunt Elsa the sweater didn’t fit, and gosh darn it, it was so popular that there weren’t any left! Rest assured knowing that while it wasn’t the gift she bought you, you used her money to get something that you enjoy. If the store is a specialty shop that has nothing you would ever, ever buy, at least turn it into a gift card before giving it to someone else. Note: If the gift has no receipt, try to return it anyway. Most stores relax return standards right after the holidays. If step one hasn’t worked, then it means you actually have to give the gift to someone. Make a list of all the people you have to give gifts to. Put them in an order that makes sense to you. Some of my favorites are most to least liked, most to least senile, and hottest to ugliest. Once you’ve made
your list, start by seeing if someone would actually like your gift. Grandma thinks you still want a pony? Take that riding crop and bit and give it to your little cousin who lives on a farm. Or your big cousin who lives in the Village… Either way, someone’s sure to get ridden. If no one fits the gift, simply start from the bottom of your list and work your way up. Once you’ve decided whom to give the gift to, ask under what context it will be given. Is it a gag gift? Or are you actually trying to wrap a smelly piece of shit into a pretty box? Either way, do it with conviction. And absolutely, positively make sure you rewrap the gift. If your gift is really crappy, chances are the original gift giver may eventually get the gift back. And you want to make sure it comes in new paper. Furthermore, this is a great way to make sure you don’t get re-gifted with your own gift, as you’ll remember the paper you wrapped it in. Finally, make sure to fully commit to your giving. If the giftee recognizes the gift as something they gave Uncle Aldo for Christmas in 1993, deny, deny, deny! Say you got it last week in a small specialty shop whose location you don’t remember in a town you probably need a passport for on the one day they’re open. That should shut them up. Or, do what I do: Get indignant, and tell them that they should be fucking grateful that anybody even remembered them.
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Page 6, not that you asked
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This Week In Science With Dr. Balloun
Anne S. of Alabama writes: Is it true that you can blind someone with science? The phrase to “blind with science” refers to the practice of intentionally obfuscating a point by using so much technical jargon that your listener has no possibility of understanding your meaning. This is like when you try to tell your mother about the Internet using complicated words like “lobster” and “toolbar.” Literally speaking, it is possible for people to go blind by ingesting methanol, which is a pretty scientific process if you ask me. Any sightless ex-wino can tell you their tragic tale of desperately chugging the methylated alcohol from the First Aid kit and discovering to their horror that they went blind as it broke down into formaldehyde and other nasty things in their systems. You wouldn’t imagine that two hydrogen atoms and a
carbon atom could be the difference between sexy frat-man and sobbing alcoholic mess, but it is true. People also go blind from diseases like syphilis, and from injury. A pan of flaming grease could be the last thing you see if you’re clumsy in the kitchen, or you could get so frustrated teaching your mom how to send an email that you pull an Oedipus and gouge your eyes out with a brooch. I know a guy who got punched in the face and now his eye looks like a raisin in a flesh wound. As far as ocular misfortune goes, the possibilities are endless. So Anne, when you reach for the bottle at your next shindig, make sure that the blackout you’re going to experience isn’t going to be permanent by forking over the extra cash to the senior down the hall for HRD.
Music That Doesn’t Suck With Your Host: Collin Gerber
This Week: Sawyer Family “The Burning Times”, the latest release from Eugene’s own Sawyer Family, delivers a deeply layered musical experience which spans numerous genres. The Sawyer Family is often known as a psychobilly band, due to the bands that they play with and the sounds of their earlier releases, yet the complexities of this album display an evolving sound and level of experience that the members are gaining. Many songs on the album include driving harmonization and a contrast of texture in the playing of each instrument that still comes together so well. The opening track, “Call
of Osiris” is a great opener to the album, as it is fast and intricately intense and leads perfectly into the next track “Scream for Me” a gritty, sultry song which begins with a solo guitar but slowly explodes into a garage orchestra. Various instrumental tracks, such as “Impaler” and the aptly titled “Fistful of Titties” create a deep, baroque sound, backed by the crushing intensity of the bow on upright bass player Count Vlad Zacul’s strings, a bass playing style unheard of in what has come to be known as psychobillystyle playing. This album is evolved, rich, haunting and profound, if anything in the display of a local band creating a sound so unclassifiable yet so awesome and forceful. If ever you have had the chance to see the Sawyer Family and passed, you should be furious with yourself, and lunge on the next opportunity. This band delivers on this album, and while playing live, in every way. Check them out at myspace.com/ sawyerfamily, or head into one of the local record stores and get a copy of the “Burning Times.”
Seasonal Affective Disorder: Some Bullshit
Techno Tuesday by Andy Rememter <technotuesday.com>
By Emily Balloun Are you craving sweet or starchy foods? Depressed in the wintertime? Sleeping a lot? Well hypochondriacs of the world, get ready for the prognosis- you may have SAD. Seasonal Affective Disorder, aka SAD or the Winter Blues affects roughly ten percent of the US population and is characterized by a desire to sleep more and eat more carbs, as well as a general slumpyness or depression of mood associated with the wintertime. Invented by Norman E. Rosenthal in 1984, probably out of a desire to sell more sun lamps, the most common treatment for the “winter blues” is light therapy, although ionized air treatment, anti-depressant medications, melatonin, big hugs, and consuming fish are accepted forms of therapy. (Just kidding. We’re only assuming that big hugs help)
There are a couple of questions that come to mind here. First of all, is this legit, and does eating fish really cure the blues? And more importantly, can I get out of class for having SAD? The answer is a big fat MAYBE on both counts. I have never met anyone who really liked winter and was totally stoked about cold, short days full of inclement weather and holiday stress. It seems like pretty much all of these symptoms are coincidental. Maybe you get depressed in the winter because your favorite whitey-sport, Ultimate Frisbee, gets rained out all the time. Or maybe you have to work retail and you want to kill every living thing you see after you get done working a ten-hour shift at Macy’s. Perhaps your favorite thing is simply sun, and that isn’t around any more. A desire to eat carb-y “comfort foods” could come from the fact that winter is the holiday season and there is a lot of it in your face, or the fact that carbohydrates are delicious. I like to sleep primarily when it’s dark, and it seems like there is a lot of dark in the winter. Far be it from me to discredit the work of a real and actual psychiatrist, but I feel like the Winter Blues are a load of hippy bullshit. Probably. As for the fish, it has been postulated by very intelligent scientists that Icelandic people have lower instances of SAD because they eat 225 pounds of fish per capita annually. Again though, until the recent suicide leap taken by the global economy on
See SEASONAL pg. 8
Fig 1: Artist’s rendering of the bullshittery that is S.A.D. TheComicPress.com
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KILL from page 6 that Triclosan, a popular ingredient in antibacterial soaps, toothpaste, and household products, “can disrupt hormones, can affect sexual function and fertility and may foster birth defects.1” And you thought you were just washing your hands after some mano-a-mano action. Ever put Talc on a baby? Did you know that Talc is related to asbestos? Did you know that “Numerous studies have shown a strong link between frequent use of talc in the female genital area and ovarian cancer.2” What the hell? Talc? Female genital area? Killing me? I don’t even know what to think anymore. Did you know that alligators frequently swim up your toilet while you’re pooping and wait to eat you? And shower Koalas, ever lurking outside your vision, waiting to kill you and feast on your succulent flesh. You’ll never be safe in your bathroom again because everything in your bathroom will fucking kill you! 1,2 Doctor Frank Lipman in Spent: End Exhaustion and Feel Great Again.
The Night Before Christmas in Eugene A Christmas poem by Jake Sauvageau
Twas the night before Christmas, out here in Eugene No snow like in Portland, all was so green. I was sitting at home, with my TV turned on When I heard a loud rustle out on the lawn. I ran to the door, and opened it wide When what should appear but a tweaker outside! He spoke in strange words I did not understand As he rustled on through my garbage for cans. Go away! Get out! And leave! I chimed But he stood there so still, wacked out of his mind. So I grabbed a weapon nearest to me: A broom, a bottle, a branch from a tree. I walked up and yelled, “You need to leave!” He just stood there and wiped his nose on his sleeve. “My son,” he replied, “Don’t you know who I am?” “I don’t give a God damn! Just leave with your cans!” The man looked and paused, as he said unto me: “If you would just listen, then maybe you’d see. I am the messiah, from a God far away. I come to your planet to show you the way.” I asked, “Who is your God? Be it Him? Be it Her?” He then said to me, “Flying Spaghetti Monster.” Just then did I notice his shiny foil hat, And his hair underneath which looked to be cat. His clothing was made from newspapers three: The Guard, The Emerald, and Eugene Weekly. His shoes were not shoes but hamburger wrappers, And pants made of cardboard which made him feel dapper. He had a big necklace made from pine wreath Which drew attention away from his rotted-out teeth. I knew he was gakked, I knew he was high So I left him alone and walked back inside. I entered my home and closed the back door. But saw him outside as he garbled some more. He walked down the sidewalk to get out of sight, And while leaving he said “Merry Christmas to all And to all snurgg frim blipl derp wizm crod tlipm!” (Cause he was crazy.)
SEASONAL from page 7
SLOW WAVE by Jesse Reklaw
<www.slowwave.com>
the burst of the credit bubble, Iceland boasted one of the highest standards of living of any country in the world. If you want to try and eat 225 pounds of haddock to beat depression, go for it, but if you’ll pardon the pun, it sounds pretty fishy to me. While you’re at the market picking up your fillets, why not throw a little skyr (shelf-stable, unflavored yogurt-type skim-milk product) into your cart and add a heaping helping of hrútspungar (pickled rams’ testicles) to more closely emulate a traditional Icelandic diet? What the hell, it’s probably worth a try. Lastly, but not leastly, can you get out of class for having the Winter Blues? Probably not. Just like you can’t get out of class for having regular depression, a hangover, March Madness, or “lady problems,” I am fairly certain that SAD falls under the category of things that professors are going to expect the average student to deal with on their own time. You’re best bet here is to fake the death of a distant relative, pretend you have an important appointment, or feign food poisoning if you really need to get an extension on that paper. If I was a professor and someone told me that they missed a deadline because they were sleeping, eating cake, and thinking wistful thoughts about sunshine, I’d tell them where they could put a fish and flunk them then and there. But that’s just me.
XKCD by Randall Munroe <www.xkcd.com>
Page 8. Can it be over so soon?
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